Can I trust you?
by Allislove123
Summary: Deep in the heart of Manhattan, two gangs, the Greeks and the Romans, battle for dominance. All hope for peace has been lost. But how does the saying go? "Out of war comes love". Could love be the answer. What will happen when a Greek and a Roman fall for each other? Will she be able to trust him, or will an old grudge get in the way? For after all, old habits die hard.
1. Chapter 1

**Ok, so this is my first story! Wow, I'm nervous. Ok, so I'm not sure how good it is but bare with me, I have it planned out and think it will be pretty good. Also, I'm fourteen and somewhat lacking in self-confidence so please refrain from criticising my story if you can help it, I did my best.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Heroes of Olympus or any of the characters, that happy job lies with the genius Rick Riordan.**

_8 years earlier..._

Jason's POV

_I bounced up and down with excitement. Today was my birthday and nothing in the world could dent my little bubble of happiness. I paced up and down in front of my mom's room, waiting for her to get her coat and wallet. She had promised to take me out for ice cream and then go to a toy shop as a birthday treat and now she was being infuriatingly slow._

_"__Mom, come OOOOOONNNNN!" i whined, screwing up my face like i was constipated. My mom laughed her special laugh as she put on her coat and zipped up her purse. Finally! I danced on the spot in front of the door as she took an impossible amount of time to put the key in the lock and turn it until i heard the clicking noise that i was sure marked the beginning of all my hopes and dreams._

_We walked down the sidewalk not nearly as fast as i would have wanted and every time i told my mom to get a move on she just chuckled and said: "I don't see what the rush is." but i didn't mind so much and we played eye spy as we walked and i let mom hold my hand even though i was a big boy now, and too old for stuff like that, because it made her happy. _

_We walked and talked and laughed and played eye spy and i was craning my neck to try and catch a glimpse of the neon sign that distinguished the ice cream place, when i noticed a group of kids lounging against the wall on the other side of the street from us, 5 guys and 3 girls. They all looked different ages and they were all wearing matching purple t-shirts. The youngest looked only maybe 3 or 4 years older than me, and the oldest looked about 17, no kidding! I was still looking at them when a car came screeching around the corner and an incredibly loud bang sounded. I froze up and watched as though in a dream, the kids across the street draw guns from under t-shirts, from waistbands, and even from under one guy's hat. _

_"__Jason run!" mom yelled as she pulled me across the street just as bullets started whizzing over our heads as the car roared past and for just a few seconds we were caught in a cross fire. I felt something fly past my ear, making my hair blow as if from a sudden breeze and a millisecond later i heard mom scream. She collapsed beside me and let go of my hand._

_"__Mom get up! We can't stay here!" i yelled over the noise but she must not have heard me because she didn't move. "Mom?" it came out as more of a question this time. It wasn't until all the bullets had been shot and the car was out of sight and all the noise of gunfire had died away that i made the connection between my mom's silence and the pool of red stuff pouring from her stomach, staining the knees of my pants as it made a puddle in the middle of the road. And then everything ceased to exist. I was vaguely aware of one of the girls in purple kneeling down beside me and putting an arm around my shoulders. I didn't hear much of what she said, just that she was really sorry and she told me her name; Gwen, and she asked me if i wanted to come with her and get cleaned up and i think i nodded, because she started pulling me away, away from my mom._

_"__NO!" i screamed and held onto my mom's coat for dear life._

_"__There's nothing you can do for her now." she said it really gentle and sad, like she'd said it a thousand times. I looked back at my mom and knew that she was right. I leant down and gave mom a kiss on the cheek. She loved it when I did that. And i stripped off my jacket and placed it under her head like a pillow, so that she would be comfortable when she got to heaven. Then, i let myself be led away._

_I looked back at my mom, lying there with the blood seeping out of her and onto the road, and i felt a scream rise in my throat. I wanted to run, and keep running and shout and keep shouting, and fight and never stop fighting. But i clamped my mouth shut and kept silent. I still have that scream inside me._

Piper's POV

_I attempted to control the flood of tears still pouring down my face. I sat behind a dumpster in the alley behind the Chinese restaurant on 22nd street. Scenes from the last few hours flashed through my head like a film on fast forward. I thought about how they had come for us, for him. I thought about how my dad had looked when they held him down and threatened to kill all three of us. I tried very very hard not to think about what had happened next; how my dad had looked when the trigger had been squeezed, when the final shot had been fired, the shot that marked the end, the shot that both created a corpse, and a murderer in a single blow. I tried not to think about my mom's face as they led her away from me. Led her to i don't know where. Never to see me. Or hold me. Or tell me she loved me again._

_"__Daddy," i sobbed. I leaned over on my hands and knees and threw up what little food remained in my stomach, then i just lost sense in everything. I cried for hours before slipping into a fretful sleep, where men with bodies twisted and warped into grotesque positions chased me. The men all had the face of my father, and they all reprimanded me for daring to survive while hey had been so callously murdered. I begged with them to leave me be but they never seemed to hear, and then my mother would appear at the end of a long tunnel, and I would shout to her for help, but she would just look at me sadly, before walking away from me through the tunnel. I tried to run after her, but no matter how fast I ran the tunnel only seemed to get longer, but I ran anyway, and the dream continued._

_"__Hey! Hey are you ok?" i opened my eyes. By the looks of it i was in the early hours of the morning. A little girl, not much older than i was, was leaning over me with a concerned expression. She had blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, and large grey eyes that looked both intelligent, and intimidating. She wore jeans, and an army jacket at least 5 sizes too big for her over an orange t-shirt. _

_I scrambled to my feet and put my fists up. I knew i would be able to hold my own in a fight, but the girl was taller than me, and looked at least a year older, maybe even 9 or 10._

_"__Who are you?" i asked in my best tough voice. The girl tilted her head to the side as if confused. "I'm not afraid of you." i told her. She looked surprised. _

_"__I don't want you to be afraid of me." she said it quiet and calm, i relaxed for a second then tensed up again, not wanting to let my guard down. "My name is Annabeth," said the girl. "And i'm not going to hurt you, i want to help you." i knew i should run but something about her made me trust this girl. I nodded slowly and lowered my fists._

_"__I'm Piper." i said sticking out a hand. It was so grubby that at first i didn't think she'd take it, but she did and we shook. I sat back down and she sat down next to me. I was impressed that she didn't flinch at how dirty the ground was._

_"__So, what's wrong and why were you sleeping behind a dumpster." i debated for a second whether to lie, make up some story, but i decided against it. I told her about what had happened, getting only slightly choked up when i talked about mom and dad. Annabeth didn't speak until i had finished. She reached over and put her hand on my shoulder, like she was reassuring me that she was still there._

_"__They really took your mom?" was the first thing she said. I looked at her, her brow was furrowed and her jaw was clenched like she was trying to contain her anger. I nodded, sniffling and wiping my nose with my sleeve. I must've looked pathetic. Annabeth shook her head like she was disgusted. "Don't worry, I'll help you. We'll find her." the way she said it made me almost believe her._

_Then her brow furrowed again, not angry, more concentrated, like she was thinking very hard. "What color were their shirts?" she asked in such an intense voice I was almost startled._

_"__Who's shirts?"_

_"__The guys who killed your dad, what color shirts were they wearing." that didn't take long to remember, the image of my father's killers had been permanently imprinted on my brain._

_"__Purple. Their shirts were purple. All of them." Annabeth's eyes widened and she shot to her feet like she'd been electrocuted. She pulled me up too and started dragging me along the alleyway by my hand._

_"__What's wrong?" i asked, getting more confused by the second._

_"__Piper, you're not safe, we have to go NOW!"_

_Today..._

Jason's POV

It's funny how things turn out. Maybe if my mom hadn't been killed, i wouldn't've met Gwen, or Reyna or the others. I wouldn't've been introduced to the underground war for New York. It took me a while to understand the whole thing but even at the age of 7 i got the gist of it; years ago two gangs formed, both from Manhattan, both eager to take control and wipe out the other. I was filled in on the smaller details as i moved up the ranks.

We called ourselves the Romans, in honor of the greatest civilization ever built. The other gang named themselves the Greeks which we were sure was just to gaul us and take the sting out of our name. We were trained to hate Greeks, that was all the training we needed; hate the greeks, love your comrades. Years ago i stopped asking why, no one had an answer anyway. My curiosity vanished along with my soul.

I first killed a man when i was 9. It was more of a test than an actual take out, it was just to see how far i would go. The man i killed was a Greek who we knew to be a spy. I shot him in the chest with the gun my legionary leant to me. I cried for days after, mourning the loss of my childhood and my innocence, for at the time, those things still mattered to me.

The second time i killed was when i was 13. A group of Greeks had passed into our territory and we had cornered them down an alley. One, the youngest, got away. The second surrendered, but the third opened fire, hitting Dakota in the leg and i took him out. I learned from the ID card in his wallet that his name was Castor. I waited for days to feel something, but never did. Proof, if i needed any, that the Jason who liked to eat ice cream with his mom, and cried like a baby the day his _daddy_ left, didn't exist anymore.

I started out as a simple soldier, actually not even that, i think i would've been booted out as soon as i joined up if Gwen hadn't told them that i showed potential. And boy was she right. I started out as a soldier, then moved my way up until i was legionary to the fifth cohort. Legionary at 15, i was proud of that.

The fifth cohort was the least desirable, so i had my work cut out for me. I trained my soldiers until we were like a well-oiled machine. I made friends with the others in my cohort. There's Reyna, my second in command. She was transferred in from another cohort a couple of years ago, immediately we got on like a house on fire. She's my age.

Dakota's two years older than me, and the joker of the pack. He joined when he was 10, and is the best driver in any cohort in the whole Legion.

Frank is quiet at first, but when he trusts you, you'll never meet a nicer guy. He's my age, and the best marksman I, or anyone else has ever met, though he's very modest about it.

Hazel is only 13 and hasn't got her stripes yet, we all feel protective of her. She looks so small and delicate, but she's certainly no coward. She was my call: I found her wandering around the streets of downtown Manhattan, trying to shake off the gang of kids tailing her, teasing her and saying horrible things about her mum, who died of alcohol poisoning, leaving Hazel homeless. I offered her money, which she refused. I offered her a place to stay, which she accepted provided it included a place for her friend as well. That is how both Hazel _and_ Frank joined my cohort. I decided to take her under my wing, as she's the youngest and i was worried she'd be picked on if left alone.

Gwen is 22 and i think is getting tired of the whole thing, i sometimes worry that she will try to make a run for it some time soon, and no one quits the legion. Not unless you want a bullet through your head.

I am one of the most promising legionaries in the whole of the 1st Legion. I have trained myself to feel nothing. To take myself away whenever they order me to do something distasteful. Ad eventually, I took myself away permanently. I'm known as the crazy one; the first one into danger, and the last one out. I've even heard people in my cohort debate in whispers whether i'm actually suicidal. That made me laugh, but i also felt sad. It also made me wonder for a while if they were actually right, but i ended up deciding that they weren't. People tell me I'm brave, but sometimes I'm not so sure. Maybe I'm just stupid. Or numb.

'Jason.. Jason!' a familiar voice breaks through my reverie. I turn my head and see Gwen standing next to my bed, looking both annoyed and amused. 'Earth to Jason. I've been calling for you the past five minutes! At first I thought you were still asleep.'

I sit up and face the doorway, scowling at Gwen. 'I was thinking! I've got a lot on my mind.' I say defensively.

'Right.' she says, stifling a laugh. 'Get up, word just came from way up, we've gotta get going-' she takes in my appearance and sighs in exasperation. 'For God sake you're not even dressed yet! Get up and meet us in the living room.' she leaves the room, slamming the door behind her as she goes.

Grumbling, I pull on a black t-shirt and change from pajama pants to a pair of old jeans, with holes not only at the knees, but all the way up and down like a piece of swiss cheese. We're a little short on cash at the moment and new clothes aren't exactly a first priority.

I go through the crumby two bedroom apartment and stop in the living room where the rest of my cohort are splayed out over the tiny couch and two moth-eaten old recliners. I grudgingly move to the hard-backed rocking chair by the window. If there were any pillows on the back or on the seat it wouldn't be so bad. I stare resentfully at my friends taking up every inch of everything comfortable.

Hazel catches my eye and sticks her tongue out at me. She and Reyna are both squashed in the same arm chair, but they look happy. I return the favor, waggling my tongue in her direction like a five year old. Gwen is holding a brown-ish piece of paper. She passes it round and gives us all a chance to read it. Here is what it says:

_23 absconditus est Graecis hominibus _

_in viam occidentalem . _

_Ibi 12:30._

_NOLI TARDARE!_

_And in English:_

_Greeks hiding out on west 23rd street._

_Be there 12:30._

_DON'T BE LATE!_

All the letters we've ever received have been written in Latin, which if you think about it is a good idea, because if the letter falls into the wrong hands, most people won't be able to read it, since it's a dead language.

'Well?' Dakota asks when the letter has made a full circle and is once again clutched in Gwen's hand. 'What time is it?'

'11:54.' Gwen replies, looking at her watch. 'They want us to be there at exactly 12:30, so I'm guessing we're meeting up with another cohort or attack force once we're there.' we all nod.

'So what are we waiting for?' Hazel speaks into the silence. 'Let's get going.'

Piper's POV

It's funny how things turn out. One minute I was just this scared little girl wandering the streets of Manhattan alone. The next I was Thee Piper Mclean, one of the finest soldiers in the Greek army. It took me quite a while to earn that title, mostly due to the fact that I was only 7 years old when I joined. But as the years went on, I started to be noticed by people in high positions. They told me I had talent, though I wasn't sure for what exactly.

We are the Greeks, the most mighty people and civilization ever built. I've been here for nearly nine years. I've learned to take care of myself. I've made friends. I've learned to block out the bad thoughts as they threaten to overwhelm me. I barely even think about my father anymore. But if I'm honest with myself, when no one's around, I've never stopped searching for my mom. Whenever we receive orders that take us into Roman territory, I always secretly hope I'll find her. I just need to see her one more time. That is the thought that has kept me going all of these years. Every night I see her face, the tortured, terrified expression as they dragged her away from me. All I need is to see her one more time, so I can stop seeing that last night over and over in my head like a nightmare that won't go away.

'Pipes? Earth to Pipes!' a voice calls from close by, breaking through my reverie. My head snaps to the side to see Percy standing in the doorway, grinning at me. 'It's time to go! The others are waiting in the hallway. Get your stuff together.' I bound up from the bed I was resting on and give him a wide smile. Percy has been here for nearly as long as I have, and from the moment I saw him I knew we were going to be friends.

'Sorry,' I rock back and forth on the balls of my feet as I apologize. 'I'll be down in a minute.' he nods and exits with a smile and a salute. I grin as I stuff everything important into my red and black backpack. I don't take much; the book I'm reading, a jumper in case it gets cold, and of course my 1996 G14 pistol **(A/N, I don't know if this is a real thing. It probably isn't)**, the same one I've had for 9 years now. I hold the gun gingerly, like it's a bomb just waiting to go off. No matter how often I hold a gun, no matter how often I fire it I still can't get used to the feeling of so much power in the palm of my hand. I also pack my old knife, katoptris, a gift from Annabeth on my 11th birthday.

Our mission today is simple; go to the docks and collect a large order of guns and other weapons being shipped over this afternoon. After that, we will put them in the Delphi Strawberry Services van (our code name) and Pollux will deliver them to the main headquarters, the "Big house".

Over my years here I have had numerous encounters with those murderers the Romans. I've lost many people I've loved to their cruelty. A few years ago Pollux's brother Castor was gunned down in an alley. That was the same night they took Malcolm, Annabeth's brother, as a prisoner. Percy was the only one who managed to escape. To our relief, two weeks later Malcolm showed up after escaping from the warehouse they were keeping him in. Malcolm never told us what they did to him while he was there, but he has never been the same since. And frankly, we're all fine not knowing.

I sprint down the stairs of our luxury apartment and skid to a halt at the front door. The apartment was my idea. I did feel bad about doing it, but our only alternative would've been sleeping either is some grotty motel, or the park. I managed to charm the landlord into giving us the apartment for barely a quarter of the usual price, rent-free! I endured nearly constant teasing about it for three weeks after the event, but it has since proved to be worth it.

'About time beauty queen!' sighs Leo exasperatedly. I hit him over the head (open hand, relax). He looks around as if looking for backup in the faces of our friends, but finds none.

'Let's go, we can't be late.' says Annabeth, unsmiling, from her position holding the door half open, waiting for me and Leo to stop bickering. We follow her out of the apartment and down the stairs (there are too many of us to fit in the tiny elevator). We walk out of the gloomy stair-well into the brightly lit lobby.

'Hey gorgeous.' says Leo. Winking flirtatiously at the lady behind the desk, a very nice and very pretty woman called Mellie. As we walk out through the large double-doors, a paper-weight shaped like a anvil flies through the air and smacks Leo in the back of the head. He whirls around but Mellie doesn't appear to have moved, although a small smile is playing across her lips as she examines the papers stacked neatly on her desk.

We walk through the bustling streets of Manhattan. Some people stop and look at us. We are a motley collection of teenagers; there's Leo, small, elfish, nimble, and wicked. You can take one look at Leo and know that he is someone to watch out for. He has dark curly hair and tanned-brown skin, marking his latino heritage. His big, brown eyes dart in every direction, as though looking for somewhere to run, should the situation take a turn for the worst.

Next to him is Annabeth, his complete opposite in every way; tall, blonde, athletic, intelligent and serious, Annabeth stares straight ahead as she walks, eyes fixed on her destination. If you are ever feeling lost or unsure, go to Annabeth. She always seems to have a plan. Every move she makes has a clear purpose. She saved me that day all those years ago, and there hasn't been a day since that she hasn't been there for me.

Then there is Malcolm, Annabeth's brother. A quiet guy who basically looks like a male version of Annabeth; same grey eyes, height, blonde curly hair and serious expression. His manner has changed though. Ever since he got back from his time with the Romans, he has been more nervous, twitchy, and constantly fingering the knife he keeps hidden in his pocket. They wanted to break him, and they did.

I walk next to Malcolm, with Pollux on my right. He is an exact copy of his brother Castor, which is why it still hurts me to look at him, like I'm seeing a ghost. He is short and stocky, with small, watery eyes, more often than not red from the fumes of alcohol constantly wafting around his room be it day or night. He has hair so black it is almost purple, and he keeps it in floppy curls, almost obscuring his eyes from view.

Directly behind him are the two Stoll brothers, who can be counted as one person, due to the fact that they are identical in every possible way. They are tall and lanky, with identical mops of untidy brown hair covering their foreheads. They are constantly laughing about something or other and are possibly the most immature and annoying people I have ever met. I love them to bits.

Lastly there is Percy, who walks with a confidence born from nine years of never once losing a fight, be it Greek or Roman, friend or foe (accept Annabeth of course). He is tall and slender, with jet black hair. His sea green eyes seem to dance with life and laughter, even when he is trying to be serious. He is goofy and wise at the same time.

However, you wouldn't be able to recognize any of us right now, owing to the fact that we are all wearing bandanas that obscure the lower halves of our faces (hence all the staring). The masks are just a precaution. We always wear them when carrying out orders from the leaders, so that in the unlikely event we are seen or pursued, the cops won't be able to recognize us. Call us paranoid but trust me, we would have been seriously screwed a couple of times had we not had the masks on.

Before long we arrive at our destination. I would tell you where but that's classified information, not that I don't trust you. A group of teens wearing similar bandanas are leaning against a large van with a picture of a strawberry wearing a top-hat, sunglasses, and twirling a cane as it seemed to be doing a tap dance. Across the top it reads in large red block lettering sprinkled with black seeds "Delphi Strawberry Services". Our logo.

Once they spot us, the group of kids push themselves up from their lounging positions against the smooth metal side of the van and rush to meet us. From their hair and eyes, I recognize Katie Gardner (a quiet girl with straight brown hair, going down to her waist), Charles Beckandorf (a burly African American kid with biceps that seem to be putting the sleeves of his shirt under quite a bit of strain), Silena Bauregard (a pretty girl with pink cheeks and flowing blonde hair), Michael Yew (a small, ferrety boy with light brown hair that sticks up in all directions), Chris Rodriguez (a burly hispanic guy with slightly stooped shoulders and close cropped black hair), and Clarrisse La Rue (a thick-set, muscular girl with stringy brown hair and a mean look in her eye).

I rush forward and am immediately caught up in a group hug with Annabeth, Silena and Katie. We babble nonsense in our excitement to see each other again, before I break away and have a turn hugging each person individually, even Clarrisse. We allow ourselves 10 minutes to catch up on each other's news, though admittedly, there isn't much to speak of. But before long, Beckandorf is raising his voice above all the chatter that always accompanies a reunion of old friends.

'C'mon guys! Time to head out!' his voice is slightly muffled by his red bandana, but his deep and booming voice still comes out loud and clear enough for us all to understand. I turn my head to keep chatting to Katie as we all begin making our way towards the van. Suddenly, I hear a noise. An all too familiar noise. To the untrained ear it could be misinterpreted as a car backfiring, but I have been in too many gunfights not to know that sound by now. I turn my head as if in slow motion. Everything feels as if it's underwater as I see Beckandorf fall. For a second I am mesmerized. Beckandorf has always been so strong and so steady, and now he looks almost... fragile. Like a single gust of wind could blow him away. Beckandorf looks so small, so delicate compared to what he once was, and it scares me to death. I am pulled out of my thoughts when I hear my friends shouting, more shots being fired, and Silena's screams. _Romans_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Ok, so I wasn't planning on updating this soon I've been out of school sick for the last few days and have had a lot of time on my hands. At first I thought that this free time would be a good time for me to keep up with my social life, before I remembered I don't have one :) Thanks to all my lovely readers and my two reviews (AlxGrace and WiseGirlWriter, this one's for you) Hope you enjoy!**

**Warning: I currently have a very high temperature so I might look at this tomorrow and really regret it... Hope not!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing!**

Jason's POV

We ride the subway for half an hour before we arrive at our stop, 2 blocks from our final destination. We are just in time too. A group of strangers is waiting rigid and still outside the station. I know at once these are the people we have come to meet. They stand with their arms folded and eyes darting around, too stiff and paranoid to just be hanging out. Also, I recognize one of them. Standing at the dead centre of the pack, there is a skinny kid with messy blonde hair falling into his eyes. He is stringy and unhealthy looking, with hollow cheeks and sunken eyes. Oh, don't even get me started on his eyes. They are mad. Wicked. Evil. Scary. _Octavian_. I stiffen as his eyes find me and his mouth twists into a malicious sneer. I walk with as much confidence as I can muster, not wanting him to sense my weakness.

'Well well,' he speaks soft and almost gentle in barely more than a whisper, but it is no trick for him to be heard. The minute he speaks all other sounds seem to stop. It's been like that ever since we were kids. 'It's about time you all showed up.' once again, he fixes his cold stare on me. 'Hello, old friend.' I nod curtly, not wanting to seem impolite, though I don't know what he's playing at. We were never friends. He despised me. From the moment I joined up, he did his best to make my life a living hell. It was from him that I got the scar on my lip. He did it in my sleep with a penknife. It was one of the happiest days of my life when he left, when we were 14. He got a... promotion, I guess you could call it. He is violent, merciless, vindictive and cruel. All the things the Romans need and value. Now here he stands before me, just as gaunt and creepy as all those years ago.

I quickly go around and introduce everyone, and he does the same. I don't remember all of their names; Hank, Leila, Larry, Jacob and a few others. They are all bigger and tougher looking than Octavian but it could not be more clear that he is their leader, their master.

'I trust you all know why you were summoned here?' Octavian speaks to the group at large after roughly five seconds of pure silence. We nod. I reach my hand into my pocket and grip my trusty gun. My _gladius_, as I call it. My greatest ally. My greatest enemy.

Without another word we set off down the quiet and deserted streets. My eyes dart over to Hazel. She is walking close to my right shoulder, looking nervous and hesitant. I catch her eye and give her a reassuring smile. She does her best to smile back, though I can see she's panicking. This will be the first time she's killed. The first time's the hardest, but soon she'll get used to it, just like me. On her other side walks Frank. He's not panicking, he just looks sad. Poor Frank. Poor, kind, gentle Frank. He wouldn't hurt a fly if he wasn't made to, and here he is, being made a murderer. It just isn't fair.

Reyna is walking a few paces ahead of me. She looks resigned yet detached in some way. I know that expression all too well. She's trying to numb herself. I long ago stopped trying to do that. I've gotten used to the feeling of killing by now. I'm not saying I take pleasure in the work we do, but it's the only feeling I've got left. I used to try to take my brain away, so that when I had to do those evil things, it wouldn't be me really. I could still be myself on the inside, even if part of me was made to be a murderer. But over the years, that place inside me that I vowed I would always keep clean and private, has been invaded and corroded so that now, this really is all there is to me. I became numb permanently. Being myself was just too painful. Being numb is so much easier. It takes strength to be gentle and kind. Strength I don't have.

We walk the two blocks to where we were told to be, before Octavian stops us. He peers around the corner, before motioning us forward with his index finger. As I round the corner I can see what he was looking at. Down the street to our left a large van is parked, and standing around it are a group of kids who look to be around the same age as us, talking and laughing rowdily. They are all wearing bandanas, varying in color, around the lower halves of their faces. _Idiots_. Don't they know they are just singling themselves out? Making it all the more obvious they are up to no good.

Octavian turns around, a demonic gleam in his eye, and pulls a large case, like a violin case, from his backpack. I know all too well what's in it. I am therefore not at all surprised when he opes it to take out a machine gun. We all follow suit and draw our weapons, before advancing. They haven't noticed us yet, but they will. A deadly calm steals over me. I know exactly what to do, and how to do it. This is it. This is what I'm meant for. This is my purpose.

A big kid built like an ox with a deep, booming voice stands straight and tall and announces to the large group; "C'mon guys. Time to go." they all begin to move towards the van. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Octavian raise his gun. I am seized with a sudden desire to grab the gun and throttle him. I know what will happen next, and I know I don't want it to. Pushing away this sudden madness, I watch as he squeezes the trigger, and fires with deadly accuracy. The large boy, the one who had spoken, seems to hover, suspended where he stands for a few seconds, before he falls onto the ground in a heap. For all his vastness and strength, it doesn't take more than a tiny piece of metal to bring him down. Pitiful really.

More shots are being fired now, and I turn and see that everyone in our group now has their guns out, though a few look hesitant to shoot. I squeeze the trigger and fire. The shot bounces harmlessly off a streetlamp, close to a tall girl with curly blonde hair. My second shot smashes the window of the van and would hit the dark guy with short black hair if the thick-set, muscly girl didn't pull him out of the way.

'Bloody Greek scum!' Octavian shrieks as he fires shot after shot into our enemy, who by now have scattered, and drawn guns of their own. One of them begins firing in my direction and I duck behind a car across the street from them, leaning out to fire into their midst, but unable to get a clear shot.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Octavian, and my heart leaps into my throat. He is standing on the roof of a car, screaming his head off as he fires in every direction, not seeming to care who he kills. His eyes are shining maniacally and his gaunt, scarecrow's face is lit up with malicious pleasure. He's lost it. I shout at him to come down but he either doesn't hear me or doesn't care. I curse under my breath and lean out from behind the car to see if we have yet done any damage.

There are few Greeks that I can actually see, as most are cowering behind cars or fire-hydrants. There is one lying on the ground motionless. It is a boy, short and slight, with brown hair that sticks in every direction. A trickle of blood runs down his temple and onto the concrete. I don't know if he's dead, but the chances of him being alive are slim to none.

Another collapses to the ground as I watch. It is a girl with long chestnut hair decorated with flowers. She falls to the ground clutching her arm. The small portion of her face I can see is twisted and contorted into a mask of pain as she crawls behind the car opposite me, dropping her gun. For a moment, I have a clear shot. Too easy. But I don't take it. Shooting an enemy when they're down is cowardice. I'm a lot of things, but I'm not a coward.

There are four I can see actually fighting back, the rest are still trying to recover from the shock, though they'll soon be fighting back, I know. There is a tall, slender boy with messy black hair that falls in his eyes, the blonde girl I tried to take out earlier, the tough looking girl with stringy brown hair and... and...

I am falling. I am falling through space and time and life and death and everything in between. I fall for days and weeks and months and years and what feels like lifetime after lifetime. I fall until I forget that I'm falling.

I am looking at an angel. This angel is more than beautiful, like the best forgotten dream. She is a vision in a green snowboarding jacket and battered jeans. Her dark hair, cut choppy and uneven, drapes around her caramel, heart-shaped face. Her long lashes flutter to touch her cheeks and then her eyes open fully in my direction. They are indescribable. No words in the English language can begin to explain the transcendent beauty of those eyes. They are otherworldly, and completely outside the realms of human comprehension.

The angel looks at me with eyes too pure and too honest to disguise the soul shining through them. A flicker of something passes through her eyes, and they quickly change color, going from dark grey to pale green. The angel seems to hesitate, before lowering her gun maybe half an inch. I understand; she doesn't want to shoot me.

I gaze at her, and I feel something stirring in my chest. Something so powerful and intense it can't be denied. Something both beautiful and terrifying. I feel as though I am cracking myself open like an egg and spilling my soul out for the whole world to see. I am turning inside out, and there's no going back from it.

In some distant part of my mind I realize that I have stopped firing, and am lowering my gun. I should snap out of it. I should keep shooting. But the thing is, I don't want to. Not anymore.

Suddenly, the air is rent apart by something like a gunshot but multiplied a thousand times over, and everything moves in slow motion as the van across the street explodes. Oh shit. _Shit. Shit. Shit._

Piper's POV  
>Stupid insane creepy scarecrow-guy. That is what I'm thinking as that stupid, insane, and intensely creepy blonde kid fires directly at the truck, hitting the gas tank and causing an almighty explosion. Arg! Well, this simple operation's taking a turn for the worse, huh?<p>

I am blasted backwards, and nearly knocked unconscious as my head slams into the side of a building. I crumple to the ground dazed and faintly nauseated. Car alarms are blaring all around me, which doesn't help with the head-ache. I attempt to rise, only to fall back. I lean against the building, trying to recover my balance. Suddenly, I hear voices close at hand, through all the smoke. They sound just as disoriented as I do, but they are unfamiliar, and seem to echo unnaturally loud as they reverberate off the walls of the buildings. The Romans are still alive. Bad.

And then I hear Percy's voice, loud and clear as day; 'Guys, come on! Run for it!' I know he's right, and I stand and take an unsteady step forward.

And then... 'Kill them! Kill them you fools! Kill them!' I sigh in exasperation. I vow to myself that if I ever meet this insane-blonde-scarecrow-man, I WILL punch him in the face. Almost immediately, a bullet strikes the wall where a number of seconds ago my head was rested. I have barely enough time to register it before the air is thick with smoke and bullets and filled with shouts of victory and pain.

Bullets rain down around me. I should move. I know I should, but the blow to the back of my head seems to have done more damage than I thought. I stand swaying, trying to sort myself out enough to move. I am just thinking that this might be it. My final adventure, if you can call it that, when a heavy force slams into my side, knocking all the wind out of me and sending me and the heavy thing flying back into the tiny side-alley. In an instant, I find myself pinned to the ground, with what seems to be a man lying on top of me. On instinct, I begin to struggle. My efforts are sluggish and weaker than usual. Damn my fragile skull! The man places a large hand over my mouth just as I open it, a scream poised on my lips. He moves his face into view and I immediately recognize him. It is the blonde boy across the street from me. Damn, I should have killed him when I had the chance! He is now staring at me with such intensity my skin begins to tingle.

He is tall and lean, with a muscular, athletic build and thick blonde hair. Come to think of it, he's a handsome boy. No, make that a _very_ handsome boy. He looks around my age, maybe a little older. His blue eyes hold my gaze. They are deep and dark as the night sky, yet there is something in them that tells of loss, and sadness, and keeps those eyes from being cold. He is beautiful.

The boy moves off of me slightly, so that he is crouching on his knees, no longer flattening me. He never breaks eye contact as he removes his spare hand from the ground next to my head, and presses his index finger to his lips. I get the message loud and clear; "Keep your mouth shut" I nod but he doesn't remove his hand from my mouth. Instead, he reaches into his pocket and draws out a gun. My eyes widen as panic floods my brain. I fumble for my pistol only to discover that I dropped it as I was blasted back by the explosion. I reach down to my belt without him noticing, and grip the hilt of my knife. I have just decided to make a desperate attempt at freedom, when he throws the gun behind him, and puts up his hands in surrender, releasing me.

I scramble backwards away from him. He has not stopped staring at my face this entire time. It's starting to creep me out. I do not draw the knife, but keep my hand firmly wrapped around it. I stare at him in confusion, and my eyes rake over his body, checking for any concealed weapons. Once I have completed my evaluation and decided that he does not seem to have any immediate intention of killing me, I slowly begin to relinquish my hold on the knife.

'Come on.' He rises from his crouching position and extends a hand to help me up. 'We gotta get you out of here.' I stare at the hand in disbelief.

'Why should I trust _you?'_ I ask, trying to sound jus a little less terrified that I actually am.

'No choice.' He speaks in an expressionless voice, like he's been trained to say it. 'We've got your friends surrounded. They're not getting away.' Anger flares in my chest as I realize he's right.

'So, what? I'm your prisoner?'

'No.' he speaks in the same monotonous voice, though softer this time. 'I'm going to help you.' I struggle to get over my initial shock. Why would he want to help me? What's in it for him? Should I trust him? He was right about the "No choice" thing, but what about my friends? I unsteadily rise to my full height, though he's so tall it doesn't really make a whole lot of difference.

'I have to help them.' I say as I attempt to stride past him.

'No.' he says with a kind of fear in his voice, though it's quickly covered up. 'We've got to get you to safety first, then we'll worry about your friends.'

From the other end of the alley, a voice rings out loud and clear; 'Round 'em up! Into the van with you Greek scum!' My heart does jumping jacks in my chest as I realize that the shots have stopped. Are my friends ok? My thoughts turn to Michael, lying in the road, his fate uncertain. How could I have forgotten him? I saw him get hit, though I don't know where. Who's gonna help him? And Beckandorf's body. What's going to happen to it? My stomach churns at the thought. I look up at my unexpected savior. Now, I consider me to be a very good judge of character, and you would be very hard-pressed to get a lie past me. I knew he was telling the truth as sure as I knew my own name. But should I trust him?

'Trust me.' he says. Was he reading my mind?

Suddenly, a voice echoes down the alley, but from what seems a distance. 'Hey, where's Jason?' The boy looks up automatically as though he's just been called, and I can only assume it was him they were referring to.

'The coward! He's run off!' The boy, Jason, flinches at these words and his expression darkens.

'And that other Greek girl, where'd she run off to? Anyone seen her?' Another voice calls. It takes approximately half a second before the thought dimly registers in my brain that it is me they're talking about. I look up at Jason and nod. Without a word he takes my hand and begins to run down the alley, away from my enemies. Away from my friends.

The alley is short and narrow, lined with garbage cans on one side and glass bottles, beer cans, and cigarettes are scattered along the ground at our feet like a trail. I dimly think of that story about the gingerbread house and the trail of bread-crumbs, what was that story. I am pulled out of my thoughts as Jason stops abruptly. I look up and instantly see why. In front of us there is a brick wall. A dead end.

Jason looks furious with the wall for daring to be there, but I don't see it as much of an obstacle. I back away from the wall a few paces, before running at it. I change my course slightly and when I jump, my right foot makes contact with the large apartment building that serves as the side of the alley. With this foot, I then propelled myself up so that my hands make contact with the top of the wall and I am able to scramble up, where I perch catlike on my hands and knees, panting and trying to keep the pain at bay. My head is throbbing more than ever and black spots dance at the corners of my vision.

'It's not that high,' I call down to him, where he stands below me, looking grudgingly impressed. 'Just copy me.' He nods, and quickly duplicates my actions, pulling himself up with one hand and sitting casually, as though on a park bench, legs crossed, arms folded over his chest. I do my best not to look impressed. I jump. I am immediately shocked by how fast the ground is coming towards me. I land on my feet too hard, and stumble. _I've had enough!_ My brain shouts at me. _You're on your own! _

I sway where I stand, feeling that I should move, but unsure how. The black spots are now not just at the edges of my vision, but obscuring the majority of my sight. I dimly register Jason landing elegantly beside me. Show off.

'Are you alright?' He asks, sounding genuinely concerned. I nod, but even that slight movement overwhelms me, and I feel myself falling backwards. Jason lunges forward and catches me before I hit the dirt. He's calling me frantically, though I can no longer make out the words. He gathers my limp body up into his arms and starts running, carrying me as effortlessly as he would a sleeping baby. I try to stay conscious, but it is like trying to keep water in your cupped hands, and I can feel myself slipping away. The last thing I see before I fall into unconsciousness is the vague outline of him, framed against the harsh sunlight, turning his hair a shining gold. Can I trust him?

**Not too bad... I didn't edit this one as thoroughly as I should have, so sorry for any spelling errors or other mistakes that may have occurred. Thanks for reading and don't forget to review! See you al soon! Keep being awesome! xo**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello! So, welcome to another chapter of "Can I trust you?". Just a heads-up, this chapter is pretty much purely Jasper. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own!**

**Warning: This chapter has not been edited very thoroughly (sorry) so I apologise for any errors that may have occurred **

Piper's POV

I wake up from what must have been the strangest dream in my entire life. Something about ambush, kidnapping and a Roman supermodel saving my life. I try to get my befuddled thoughts together enough to at least open my eyes, but they seem like led all of a sudden.

I suddenly become aware of many things at once; first, my head feels unusually heavy and enclosed, like I am wearing a soft and weighted hat, squeezing my head not uncomfortably, but the feeling is unusual. Second, I am not in my usual bed. I am instead lying on crisp, hard sheets that I would normally associate with somewhere uptight and unfriendly, and lack the usual smell of cinnamon which always surrounded my sheets back at the hideout. And finally, I am not alone.

I stiffen as I hear a shuffling sound beside me, not far away. My eyes snap open, and I suddenly feel very awake indeed. I turn my head slowly, wanting to put off the moment for as long as possible. Sitting beside my bed on an old, spindle-legged chair is a familiar looking blue-eyed, blonde-haired person.

'She lives.' he says with utmost relief in his voice. I raise my hand and feel a turban of bandages wrapped around my head, which feels tender and fragile, and everything suddenly clicks into place. Immediately, I start to cry. And when I say crying, I mean full-on hysterical, hiccuping, runny-nosed crying. Jason just sits there awkwardly, looking completely at a loss.

'Are you... um... ok?' I attempt to give him a withering glare, but with the tears swimming in my eyes, I doubt it has the desired effect. _Are you ok?_ Honestly!

My body is racked with sobs and I jolt up from the bed, cradling my head (which seems too heavy to lift with my neck alone) in my hands. 'I left them.' I choke out. 'I left them. I left them. Why did I leave them?' It was a rhetorical question, but my mind immediately delivers me the answer: _Because you're selfish!_

'You had to,' Jason says softly. I wipe my eyes on the bedsheets. I can't look at him. 'You would have been taken too.'

'I _should_ have been taken too!'

'And what good would that do anyone?' He asks. I consider the question, but cannot form an answer.

He sighs, and moves so that he is sitting on the bed next to me. He takes me gently by the shoulders and pulls me into his chest. For a second I resist, trying to pull away. But then he wraps his arms around me, pulling me in closer, and I no longer want to. I cry into his chest like I used to do with my father. His arms are strong and wrap around me easily, one at my waist, one rubbing comforting circles across my back. He rocks back and forth, back and forth in a slow rhythm. He whispers hushed reassurances, though I can hear hardly any. My ears are filled with the rushing of the blood in my veins and my own gasping breath as I cry.

I try to think of the last time I was held like this, and find that I can't remember. The last time was by my father before he died, eight years ago. Eight years. I guess in that time a lot of sadness and frustration has built up, and being held like this, so strong and so reassuring, I cannot help it. I have to let it out. Jason does not even attempt to tell me to stop crying, as so many parents do in situations such as these. He instead seems to recognize that I need to cry, and so lets me.

I am not sure when exactly it happens, but something about the embrace changes. Suddenly, I am hyper-aware of his hands, one at my waist, one rubbing my back. They are soft and warm, and seem to burn my skin, making it light up like fire and ice and bee stings wherever they touch me. I can feel all ten of his fingers, burning holes through my clothes and through me right down to my core. My centre. It is not a bad feeling.

I also am suddenly aware just how close we are, pressed right up against each other. He is warm, and fuzzy soft, I decide after a minute of trying to find the right words. His shirt is clean and soft against my cheek. I breath in his scent. He smells of pine. Warm. Soft.

Jason's POV

I am completely at a loss. I lie back on the bed slightly as I hold her in my arms and rock her back and forth. She is still crying, but now it is more like silent tears, and the awful, heart-wrenching sobs have stopped. I just hold her. The feeling of her in my arms is alien to me. I have never held someone like this. I have been hugged before by my mom in a manner like this, but I have never been the one giving the reassurance. The feeling is odd, but I feel... happy. She makes me happy. Even when she is crying into my arms she fills me with a warm and sweet feeling, like I am being slowly filled up with maple syrup. That is the only way I can think to describe it. Warm and sweet.

The hug is warmer than a pile of blankets and a glass of hot chocolate. It is more meaningful than a Smiths song. I hold her tighter. I don't want to let her go. She smells of cinnamon and her hair is the color of a cadbury's chocolate bar, rich and sweet. My hand ghosts over her back, rubbing comforting circles. She has a slight figure, and I can wrap my arms around her easily. She is a perfect fit. I do my best to say with my body language all the things my stiff lips and clumsy tongue prevent me from saying with words. I try to tell her all the things she would like to hear, as if I know what they are. I hold her tighter.

Suddenly, she stiffens, and begins to pull away. I do not stop her, but feel like shouting in protest. I let her go and she sits up, not looking at my face. Her head is still wrapped in bandages, and there are tear tracks along the lengths of her cheeks. Her hair is disheveled and sticks to her sweaty face and neck and her eyes are puffy and red from crying. How can anyone possibly look so beautiful?

When you hug someone you expect that when they eventually pull away they will leave some of themselves behind. There will still be a vague imprint of them on you wherever you go, no matter what. But when she pulls away, I instantly feel the loss of her tearing at my chest. I feel no different than I did before I hugged her, and yet somehow incomplete. Like I just obtained something I didn't know I needed, and then lost it again just as suddenly, leaving a gaping hole I did not previously know was there.

She looks down at her hands, then at the old wall, the wallpaper peeling in weird places. I realize with a start that it has suddenly become... awkward. When did that happen? I look down at my hands and clear my throat, which seems to have gone dry. I open my mouth to say something but my voice-box is short-circuiting, making me unable to force air up my parched throat.

The girl looks around and takes in the scenery. 'Where are we?'

'The _Agua Caliente _hotel_.' _I tell her. 'It's been abandoned for years. Me and my friends used it as a hideout when I was eight, but there was a rat problem so we had to move. I doubt they'll look here.'

Her hand drifts up to the turban of bandages around her head. 'How long was I out?' she does not sound like she wants to know the answer.

'Half an hour. I was just starting to get psyched up to take you to the hospital when you woke up.' I tell her honestly. When she passed out, that was my first instinct as it is naturally what you should do in that situation. But then I remembered the kind of shit I'd be in if they got my face on a security camera. Me, wanted murderer and gang member, carrying an unconscious girl into the emergency room. Yep. Would not have gone down well.

I stand up and begin rummaging around in the medical kit I placed at her bedside in expectation of her waking. 'Here,' I hand her a box of pills labelled "Ibuprofen". 'Take two of those. They'll help with the pain.' I hand her the pills and a glass of water. She swallows the pills along with a gulp of water, and lays her head down on the pillow, sighing. She turns her head to face me again.

'What am I gonna do now?' She asks.

'I don't know.'

'Rhetorical question.' she snaps at me. I shrug and suppress a smile.

'Sorry.' I say. Silence invades the room, creeping into every corner and burrowing in for a long stay.

'How long will I be here?' she asks me.

'I don't know,' I tell her. 'Until it's safe for you to leave.'

'Real specific. Thanks.' she says sarcastically. 'And what about when we need food?'

'I'll go out and get us something.'

'How come you get to go out and not me?' she asks indignantly.

'Because _I_ know how to take care of myself.' I reply. I instantly regret it after seeing the look on her face.

'I'm not even gonna comment on that, accept to say that in a one on one situation, I could kick your ass.' I suppress a laugh at just how certain she sounded, like she actually believed it. Her expression hardens as she seems to see through my pathetic attempt at keeping a straight face.

'But anyway,' I say, trying to smooth over a potentially awkward moment. 'You're in no condition to leave now anyway. You need to stay here for a while until your head gets better.' she looks a mixture of sullen and distressed, and I can tell she does not like the idea of just sitting back here doing nothing.

'Jason?' she asks me after what seems an eternity.

'Yes?'

'How long have you been... you know... one of them?' I give her a questioning look. 'Well, if I'm going to be staying with you for any length of time, I want to know who you are.'

This brings me up short. I have not even known her a day yet, and here she is asking to know my story, which I have never shared with anyone before. And yet, I cannot help but trust her. The way she looks at me, with eyes unclouded by judgment, I sense that no matter what I tell her, she will accept me.

'Well,' I begin, choosing my words with the utmost care. 'My dad left when I was five, and he took my sister with him, I still don't know where she is.' I open my mouth to continue but feel a lump in my throat that won't go up and won't go down, halting my speech. But she is patient, and looks away for a moment, giving me time to compose myself. 'So, long story short, my mom was killed when I was seven. I met Gwen and she took me in, and let me into her cohort. I've been there ever since.' She purses her lips.

'How was your mom killed?' she asks softly. I look at her and it's hard to contain the wave of anger sweeping over me, creeping into every nook and cranny of my wrong, twisted heart and spreading out like poison through my veins.

Realization dawns on her face. 'Oh.' is all she says. Silence drapes over us, shrouding us in thick layers.

Finally, she speaks. 'We have a lot in common.' I look up at her, shocked by her words. She is looking directly into my eyes, though I feel as though she can see past them. Like she is dragging out my soul for inspection.

'My father.' she offers in way of an explanation, though she needn't say more. I know what she means. 'Eight years ago they came for him, said he'd done wrong and would have to pay for it.' she shrugs. 'That was it.' In some distant part of my mind, I notice she used the word "they" instead of "you". I take that as a good sign.

'They took my mom away. I don't know where, but I haven't seen her since.' She looks at me with eyes full of what I know to be hope, as if I will offer some useful insight into the situation. I don't say anything, I don't want her to know what I'm thinking. If they took her mom away and she has not been seen since... well, like I said, it's not something I am about to tell her.

'I also lost a friend of mine. Not a particularly close friend, but it was the first and kind of a wake-up call I guess. He was killed on a scouting mission.' she picks at the sheets, not looking at me. 'I still know his brother Pollux, but he was never really the same afterwards, you know?.' I nod. I understand what she means. I have lost and taken people over the years. Never people close to me, but it's still tough. I remember that kid Castor I killed when I was thirteen and, for the first time, I feel a twinge of regret. I am about to ask her if maybe she knew of him, but she speaks before I can.

'Have you ever killed anyone?' she asks out of the blue. I am startled into answering honestly without thinking. I nod, then regret it immediately. My eyes widen and I stare at her as scared as I've ever been in my whole life. I am terrified of seeing all the things I know others see when they look at me; disgust, hatred, fear. Her face remains expressionless. I rush to defend myself.

'I mean, I didn't want to. I've never wanted to. It was only when they made me, or to protect my friends. I _never_ wanted to.' In her eyes, I do not see disgust or fear, but rather... disappiontment. I feel suddenly like a small child caught in the act of wrongdoing. 'What about you? You ever killed anyone?' I say defensively, feeling a sudden desire to turn the tables away from me and onto her.

'No.' she shakes her head. I stare at her in disbelief. She's been in her gang for eight years and she's never killed anyone? Hoe has she managed that? 'I mean, I've had the opportunity, I've just never liked the idea. I've always tried to solve my problems by being quick and clever, and I've only had to use violence for necessary defense, and I've never used it to take a life. Never. And I never will.' I stare at her in a mixture of admiration and annoyance. How can anyone possibly be so noble? All these years of lying and murdering there I was thinking I had no choice. Follow the rules, I told myself. Do what they tell you. Don't think. And here this girl is, talking about how she has put her life in danger to avoid the prospect of killing. Half the times I've killed I wasn't even in danger! She is infuriating.

'Are you ok?' she asks, her forehead creased with worry. I guess some of my annoyance showed on my face.

'I'm fine. Just rethinking all of my major life decisions. No big deal.' I avoid eye contact, not ready to face the accusation of what I always somewhat suspected; I'm a monster. Suddenly, I feel something touch my fingers and jerk my head up. She is reaching for my hand, just barely brushing my fingertips with hers. She is looking down almost shyly, like she does not want to face my reaction. I am glad of this, because right now, I don't know what my face must look like.

'I believe in second chances.' she tells me. 'I believe that there is always more to a person than what they are showing you. Even if they don't know it yet. I think there's more to you than this. You are not your thoughts, and you are not your actions.' I stare at her, not wanting to let her know she's wrong. And yet, a tiny flicker of what I dimly recognize to be hope begins to shine through the careful facade I've built up over the years, and thought I had perfected.

And then she slips her fingers through mine. Holding her hand is like holding something alive. Something full. I can feel the fast thumping of her heart through the thin layer of silk skin. I feel like I am finally connected to something. I am not alone, and I don't have to be. The world suddenly seems much brighter, more defined. I am not alone in this world anymore, not as long as she is beside me, I never will be. As soon as I touch her, I wonder how I could have survived so long without this .She rubs her thumb across the back of my hand and I shiver, wondering how this much pleasure could have existed for so long without my knowledge. I can just stay here and hold her hand and marvel at how her skin feels like silk and sets mine on fire with every gentle caress of her thumb ghosting across the back of my hand. It is innocent and pure and I love every second.

But of course, all too soon she is pulling away, resting her hand back over her stomach, over the blanket. My hand feels cold and numb, no longer burning with the strange fire she had ignited in me. She has left me to smolder into ashes.

'What time is it?' she asks.

I check my watch. 'Four in the afternoon.' I tell her.

'Do you think it would be alright if I went to sleep? I just... can't deal with this right now.' She looks so sad, so heartbroken in that moment that if she asked me to go jump off a cliff, I would do it to try and cheer her up.

'Yeah, yeah of course.' I say, getting off the bed and starting towards the door.

'Jason,' I turn. She looks hesitant, biting her lip. It's actually adorable. 'Would you... would you stay for a little while? Just until I fall asleep?'

I just about run back to her side, and sit on the chair next to the bed. For a long while, we just stare at each other.

'Jason?' she speaks after intensely examining my face for a few moments.

'Hmm?' I rumble.

'Why did you save me?' it is such a simple question yet completely catches me off guard. I do my best to form a coherent answer to such an unanswerable question.

'It was the only option. I just couldn't... _not_ save you really. I knew you were important. I could just tell you were needed. And also you were just... I don't know, but it really was my only option. I could just tell that you had to stay alive, and no one else seemed to, so I took it upon myself. It got me into a righteous mess, but I can't say I regret it. You're alive, and that's what matters.' It was an alarmingly honest thing to say. I have never been emotionally articulate, and certainly not enough to express my deepest feelings to some person, some _Greek_, who I barely know. She does not look satisfied with my answer, but seems to sense that I did my best.

'Where did you get the medical kit?' she asks, her eyes trained on the small red bag next to my right leg.

'My friends and I stored everything here, incase we ever needed it again. It's got everything we could need. Accept food that is.' she nods.

'Jason?' she asks again. I can hear the drowsiness in her slurred words, and glance up to see that her eyes are closed.

'What is it?' I ask gently, in little more than a whisper.

'Can I trust you?'

'Yes.' I tell her. 'I swear on my life and the lives of everyone I know that I will not harm you, or let any harm come to you while I'm around. Never.'

'Liar.' she says sleepily.

'What?' I ask, confused and somewhat hurt.

'If you'll keep me safe then why am I lying here talking drug-induced gibberish from a head injury after passing out for half an hour?' I laugh out loud, not something I do very often.

'Ok, you've got me there.' I tell her between chuckles. 'Starting from now, I'll always protect you when I can. Deal?'

'If this is your idea of protecting me then I want no part of it.' I laugh again, and the corners of her mouth twitch up in a smile. 'Ok. Deal. But not always. I can't always be Lois Lane. I want my chance to be superman.'

'Deal.' I tell her, still chuckling under my breath. 'Can I ask you a question now?' She makes a small noise of confirmation. 'What's your name?' she smiles a sleepy smile.

'It's Piper.' Piper. Perfect. A few more seconds pass and I am beginning to think she has gone to sleep when she speaks again.

'Jason?' she asks for what is now the third time. Or forth, Can't remember which.

'Yes?'

'You know what you said when you got me out of there? About how we'd get me to safety and then help my friends?'

'Yes.'

'I'm holding you to that,' I half smile.

'Deal.' she smiles a slow, satisfied smile.

'Goodnight Jason.' A few seconds later, her shoulders relax and her breathing evens out. I can tell she's gone to sleep.

'Goodnight Piper.' And for the next hour, I just watch her sleep, feeling more confused than I have done in my life.

**Not bad I guess. I am still setting things up, but I thought that could have been worse. If any of you have any suggestions, or just stuff that you would like to happen, be sure to PM me. Thanks for reading and don't forget to review!**


	4. authors noteapology

**Hi everyone! I wanted to say how sorry I am for not updating, which is A LOT! A more detailed explanation is available on my profile but the broad outline is that I have recently been diagnosed with depression which sucks. I am finding it hard to do simple tasks and writing almost impossible. I know that telling you this won't change the fact that I have not updated but I just didn't want you to think I was leaving you hanging deliberately or that I didn't care because I do and I really am insanely grateful to all of you for taking the time to read my story! I am having a good day today so I thought I would write this just to let you know... so yeah.**

**Goodbye and once again I am sorry, but I think some time out will be really good for me. Please don't give up on this story! If you do, I understand but I'm hoping you'll stick with me through this.**

**Lots of _love *wink wink*_,**

**Allislove123 **


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